


Till the End of the Line

by popup_ferjesus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popup_ferjesus/pseuds/popup_ferjesus
Summary: Steve Rogers kidnapped by Johann Schmidt..but not for the reasons you would think. Angst ensues. I'm bad at summaries





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So many TW's in this. Abuse (emotional/psychological and physical), murder, violence, brainwashing, torture, implied/referenced rape, Stockholm syndrome, PTSD, so if that stuff triggers you I wouldn't recommend reading this. I'll add tags as I think of them. Also unedited, so forgive any grammatical/spelling errors.

Steve woke up, stretching languidly, and wondered what on earth he had been doing the day before that caused him this level of morning soreness. In fact, he really didn’t even remember going to bed the night before. He fluttered his eyes open, only to immediately screw them back shut.  
“Someone better have an incredible explanation for this amount of light at this unearthly hour,” he called to no one in particular, only griping for the sake of being able to. He listened realizing that the only response he was being met with was...the wind through the trees?   
“Okay, so somebody left the window open,” he tried to reassure himself, but no one was buying it. He rolled over onto his stomach and WOW, why on earth were his joints so stiff? He risked opening his eyes again, and slowly surveyed his immediate surroundings. It seemed he was in the middle of a suspiciously circular grassy clearing, surrounded by thick forest for what seemed like miles. He was fighting hard to keep his cool at this point.   
“Okay Rogers, just like we’ve practiced,” he whispered to himself, “focus on getting good, deep breaths.” Steve had a tried and true method of calming a potential anxiety attack, considering he and Bucky were in that very situation far more often than he would like to admit. Five things you can see, he thought to himself. The never-ending forest; the sky above, an expanse of midday blue, devoid of even the smallest cloud; the patch of grass in which he lay, completely circular and roughly fifteen feet in diameter; two trees in front of him, five feet apart and perfect mirror images of each other; finally, he looked down and noticed the rope marks on his wrists, he ran a hesitant thumb over one of them and hissed through his teeth. Definitely still fresh. He sat up and winced, noticeably anxious now, and in no position to try and traipse aimlessly through the woods in front of him.   
“How’s the breathing coming along, Captain?” Steve whipped around at the low voice he heard behind him, the thick German accent all too familiar. His eyes were met with blinding sunlight, which caused him to squint and shift his focus to the ground. “Allow me to assist you,” the gruff voice continued, with all the condescending confidence of someone who knows they have the upper hand. The figure sidestepped to the left, blocking the sun and allowing Steve’s gaze to travel past smart black shoes and tailored dress pants, to a collared-shirted torso, and finally to the bright red bone structure of none other than his arch nemesis.   
“Red Skull,” Steve spat, making sure to keep all of his confusion buried deep inside him and fill his voice with only malice. The man calmly crossed to Steve in three steps and backhanded him across the face with enough force to knock a normal man out cold. Steve was no normal man, and while he flinched he remained alert and unfazed. He leapt to his feet, graceful and aware despite the deep ache coursing through him, all the sensors in his body practically begging him to sit down and take a hit, but pride and intelligence outweighing instinct.   
“We’re friends now, Captain, and you will address me as such,” the man explained, coolly striding over to the mirrored trees Steve had noticed before. He rested his hand on the trunk of the right one, and murmured something into it too low for Steve to make out. Before he could speak a metal doorway was appearing between the trees, seemingly out of thin air.   
“I’ll never consider you my friend,” Steve said lamely, confusion starting to creep its way on to his face.   
“My name is Johann Shmidt, but my friends simply call me Shmidt,” Red Skull answered, ignoring Steve’s attempts to provoke him. Once the door was fully in view, Shmidt swung it open with a flourish, exposing a narrow concrete staircase leading into pitch darkness, despite the sunlight illuminating the first ten steps. “Now,” Shmidt continued, “after you.”  
“You don’t actually expect me to allow this, do you?” Steve asked with genuine astonishment.   
“You will go willingly or you will regret it, Rogers.” Shmidt presented this turn of events with an air of casual conversation, not as though he was threatening a man as powerful as Steve.   
“You are in no position to be giving orders,” Steve growled, his original anger returning with force. He was not going to stand around and let a man such as this bully him into submission so easily. “If you truly believe you can hurt me, then you obviously don’t remember what you’re up against.” Shmidt’s face twisted into a grin and he laughed heartily, as though what Steve had said was the funniest thing he’d heard to date.   
“Oh Rogers,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket. Steve’s muscles tensed, ready for a fight when Shmidt extracted...a phone? “It’s not what I’m going to do to you,” Shmidt continued, flipping it open and pushing a few buttons, “it’s what I’m going to do to him.”  
“Wha-” Steve began before he was cut off by a familiar voice coming through the phone speakers.  
“Steve please,” Bucky sucked in a quick breath as though someone had punched him in the stomach. “Listen to me,” he choked. All the fight drained out of Steve and he too felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He stumbled forward with outstretched hands, as though Bucky was standing right there and he could reach out and touch him. Red Skull simply held the phone out of Steve’s reach and tutted disapprovingly. “Just do what he says, alright? Just do what he says. You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” there was a scuffle, and Bucky cried out. Steve felt his heart rate quicken and focused all his energy on remaining upright. “I’m right there with you, I’m with you to the end of the line, St-” Shmidt snapped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket.   
“What did you do to him!” Steve attempted to yell, but his voice sounded broken, even to him. Shmidt merely smiled and gestured to the staircase in front of him. Steve took a deep breath and stepped to the first stair. He looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Shmidt. “What did you do to him?” He asked with all of the sorrow of a grieving man. To Steve, it was a plea to Shmidt to leave Bucky alone, to torture him instead. To Shmidt, it was an admission of defeat. An agreement that yes, he truly did have the upper hand. When Steve was met with the silence, he began trudging down the stairs, his shuffling footsteps giving him a better explanation than words ever could. Shmidt pulled the door shut and pressed his hand to the inner sensor, resealing the opening from the outside and returning the forest to an eerie stillness, and began descending into the darkness below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry i’ve been gone for so long! I’m glad people are enjoying where this is going and updates will be much more frequent in the future!

Steve clutched the railing of the staircase like a vice, partially to keep himself grounded in the face of this seemingly impossible situation, but mostly because his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness. The hard-packed walls were dimly illuminated by the candles lining them, but that was as far as he could see. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stood there, every muscle in his body taut and ready to react if necessary. Shmidt walked towards him and Steve tensed further, his hands curling into fists, but he walked past without a second thought over to a panel on the wall. A switch was flipped and low light flowed into the room. Steve’s eyes adjusted to the warm yellow light quickly and he surveyed his surroundings. The room was circular, with a table near the panel on the wall, containing various monitors and recording instruments. Across the room was the entrance to a hallway, and a couch made out of similar metal to the table and stairs and covered with thin cushions sat next to it. Steve then noticed what looked like shackles bolted to the armrests and the floor near the couch. He whirled to face Shmidt with a look of blatant distaste on his face.   
“What exactly is your agenda here, Shmidt?” he spat. Shmidt received the verbal abuse calmly, taking a deep breath before answering Steve’s arguably rhetorical question.   
“Consider yourself a little...experiment, Rogers,” the man laughed at his own irony before continuing. “I’ve always been more than a little...intrigued by your nature and I finally saw it fit to take my curiosity into my own hands.” He continued before Steve could get a word in. “Come with me and I’ll show you the rest of the quarters. Shmidt’s casual, almost conversational tone infuriated Steve but he followed anyway. He was led down a narrow corridor, lined only with the same candles that were in the main space until they came to the end. The hallway widened into something like a circular foyer, with a door directly across from the end of the hall and two others on either side. Shmidt opened the leftmost door first and gestured vaguely inside.   
“Bathing quarters,” he explained dismissively, already opening the door to the far right and walking inside. “This space,” he continued, “will be ours.”  
“OURS?” Steve parroted in disbelief, when another, more pressing question crossed his mind “How long do you expect me to just stick around, Shmidt?”  
“Why, as long as you want your ‘Winter Soldier’ unharmed, of course.”  
“If you lay a hand on him-”  
“Relax!” Shmidt interrupted, “as long as you comply through the duration of the experiment, nothing will happen to him.” The villain laughed darkly. “Or shall I say, nothing more…”  
“You son-of-a-”  
“Once again, Rogers, I would hold my tongue if I were you.” Steve quickly closed his mouth, for none other than Bucky’s sake. The hatred was still clear on his face.   
“Now!” Shmidt pressed on brightly, “Let’s continue with the tour.” It was then that Steve took a look at the room for the first time. The same dim yellow lightbulbs were screwed in from a modest chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was another monitoring system set up, this one much more vast and advanced. A lavish, four-poster bed was pushed against the far wall, and with its dark wood and burgundy draperies the whole setup looked vaguely...romantic? Steve felt rage boil up in his face as he whirled and caught Shmidt by the throat, shoving him against the nearest wall.   
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of mind games you’re playing at, but I’m not interested in being a part of your little ‘experiment’. Now, I’m going to get out of here. We can do things my way or we can do this the easy way, which would you prefer?” There was a brief moment of silence, the only sound that could be heard was Steve breathing heavily through his clenched teeth. Then Shmidt started to laugh wheezily, his windpipe obviously obstructed by Steve’s crushing grip.   
“I’ve never been known to take the easy way out, Rogers,” he choked. Before Steve could react, the other man was reaching into his inner coat pocket and pulling out a syringe. Shmidt stabbed the needle into Steve’s bicep and pushed the plunger down. Steve immediately began to feel the effect of whatever had been inside and released his hold, doubling over and leaning against the wall for support. His weakness soon won over his effort and he collapsed to the floor, struggling to remain conscious. The last thing he saw before he blacked out were the toes of Shmidt’s shoes approaching him.


End file.
